Lithium
by Difficult-notImpossible
Summary: Northern Indiana State Hospital. Locked psychiatric ward. That's where Michaela is tormented by the voices. She never thought there would be an end to them. They led her into trouble, into death and suffering. When a new patient is admitted with a bad case of insomnia, Michaela begins to wonder whether the voices are helping her after all. Start 7.17 The Born-Again Identity Sam/OC


A/N: _I've been a bit MIA lately.. my muse has been chased away, but it's back with a new project, which is this one. Please, read and review... I will try my very, very best to update it. _

Lithium

Chapter 1- Suffering

* * *

Dr. Collins says she's doing well.

The nurses are smiling again. They say her behavior has improved tremendously. They say she looks much better. That her parents would be proud, that she should be proud of how far she's come. They spoil her, bring her more food than they should. She doesn't eat it. The doctor says she'll be back to herself in no time.

But no one tells her when she gets to go home.

They want her to spend more time outside, say that some fresh air will do her good. She disagrees. The breeze that moves through the trees is too much for her. It tries to choke her as the sun beats down on her, blinding her. Open air is contaminated by the shared oxygen of the earth's population. The breaths of other people tangle with the wind, 6 billion opinions floating through the air, making her head throb.

She likes the inside. It's safer, though lonely. Her room is small and boring. No one but the nurses and Dr. Collins talk to her. No one is allowed to. Good as her behavior may be, she's still considered a threat; poison ivy to the minds of those around her. She's still unstable, with episodes that she is still waiting to remember. A short temper, with the instincts of someone who is much too used to being attacked, snuck up on. She's to be left alone, whether she likes it or not. She doesn't think any amount of good behavior will help that.

She knows it's nine o'clock when the lights go out, moonlight pouring in through the window installed way about her reach. When the cold joins with dark to torment her, her body trembling involuntarily, her mind raging inside her. When the bed under her turns into stone, chasing away any desire she could have of sleeping. When her whimpering and screaming echoes through the halls, calling the attention of the nurses, the other patients. When every atom in her body experiences a torturous dull ache, making her moan and cry in agony and desperation.

Nine o'clock is when the voices come.

* * *

His whole body ached. It was a matter of not knowing what he was doing half the time. His mind was so clouded and confused, he could barely function. Words couldn't come to his tongue; thoughts could barely form in his head. All he knew was running, panting, his heart pounding in his ears. His eyes screamed for a break, his body wanting some sort of rest. But that would never happened, not while that annoying voice was still tormenting him, teasing him, not allowing him to turn the switch in his brain to unconsciousness.

Drugs don't do anything. Nothing does. He's desperate, unstable, unknowing. Where can he run now? Who can he turn to? Is there anything strong enough that will allow him rest?

Nowhere. No one.

But there is something.

Death.

"Hey, Sam, what's the longest a normal human being has gone without sleep?"

His head spins, his body never being able to stand upright. The only break his eyes get is his rapid blinking as he tries to upright himself, but Lucifer is still there. Always there. He staggers away, wanting another escape. The answer is so close. He wants it, some way to get the rest he needs.

"Eleven days."

His feet begin to move again, and he's running once more. As far as he can be taken. He trips and swerves, but there always seems to be more obstacles in his way. "Hey, you always wanted to be normal, Sam! If you are, you'll be dead in a week!"

He keeps running, he wants to slow down, to fall and give up. But that won't even work. He's been tortured, beated, bruised, but this is the worst of them all. Not being granted the chance to rest, a break in his suffering.

Pain shoots through him, a horn blares in his ear, something louder than the obnoxious voice he can't get rid of. A windshield shatters, his body rolls over the hood of a car before dropping onto the hard pavement. He's hit. He squeezes his eyes shut, it hurts to breath, and burns to pant. He waits for it. For the blackout. The moment of emptiness before he wakes up in the hospital.

It never comes.

He sees that smirk he hates so much, the laughter hitting him.

"Still wish you were normal?"


End file.
